Sleeping Wounded
by Gumnut
Summary: He deserved it. Standalone. Possible spoilers up to end of S2.


Title: Sleeping Wounded

Author: Gumnut

30 Dec 2018 – 2 Jan 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: He deserved it.

Word count: 3367

Spoilers & warnings: Possible spoilers up to end S2. Some whump.

Timeline: Standalone.

Author's note: This is an answer to a prompt from i-am-chidorixblossom who asked for something sleep related. It started there and ended up somewhere else, but that happens a lot anyway :D I hope you enjoy it in any case :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You've got to be kidding. Money? Don't have any, don't bother.

-o-o-o-

"Goddamnit, Virgil, strap yourself in!"

"If I don't fix this, we are both dead."

Virgil had his head inside Thunderbird Two's control panel while Scott desperately tried to keep them level, ever so low over thick forest.

They had lost both VTOL and main thruster control thanks to yet another Fischler invention. The little mobile solar collector had been attracted to TB2's rear thrusters and had shown that attraction by flying into one, despite Virgil's desperate manoeuvres. The resultant explosion had taken out not only that thruster, but interfered with its partner. The electrical shock had travelled through her circuitry and disabled VTOL control in the process. The only reason they were still airborne was because Virgil knew his own 'bird so well, he had been able to get her into a glide long enough to dig into her circuitry and slap together some partial control.

They were going down in any case. It was just a matter of how badly.

Scott felt the controls wallow in the lightest of crosswinds, the missing roar of his brother's bird as bad as a missing heartbeat.

There was a muffled expletive, a yelp, and suddenly VTOL roared to life.

But only the two front thrusters fired. Scott struggled to keep her in the air. Treetops began to scrape across her underside. "Virgil, strap in!"

And they went down.

-o-o-o-

Scott sat on the lounge and stared at his brother.

Virgil had slipped sideways on the couch and curled himself up in the corner against the armrest, snoring softly. Dressed in his usual red flannel, but barefoot and in shorts, he looked young and vulnerable. A bandage clung to his forehead, emphasising the deep purple of a black eye and tousling his hair into a more of a spike than usual. One arm was in a cast and his red flannel shirt was unbuttoned, the familiar grey undershirt missing, leaving bare skin mottled with bruising and the strapping required for broken ribs.

His little brother was the sleeping wounded, but it was thanks to him that they were alive.

-o-o-o-

Thunderbird Two was the toughest 'bird of them all. Her cahelium hull was designed to withstand the rugged heavy lifting to which she was continually subjected. But she was not strong enough to take the repeated beating of ancient hardwoods. Eventually her momentum was no longer enough to keep her going and a great tree stood firm. There was the godawful screech of wood versus metal and her path was warped, the whole plane spinning sideways.

And a ripping groan as her port-side wing was dismembered.

Scott clung on for dear life, praying what little control he had was enough. Beside him, Virgil staggered away from the open control panel, clinging to every purchase hold he could find, making for his pilot's seat.

Until that final massive tree said no.

Thunderbird Two came to a sudden and violent halt.

As Scott was thrown against his harness, Virgil was lifted from his feet and flung up and over the control panel and landed hard against his 'bird's windows.

The rear of the great green Thunderbird lifted as momentum was shed into her environment, and she hung suspended for one breathtaking moment, before she dropped back to Earth with a scream of splintering wood.

The forest groaned.

-o-o-o-

Scott blinked and fought off his own need for sleep. He still had a headache and his wrist was an annoyance, but it was nothing.

Virgil frowned in his sleep, his whole face grimacing.

Sporting his own frown, Scott wobbled to his feet, grabbed a throw off the end of the lounge and made his way slowly over to his brother. His ankle annoyed him almost as much as his wrist, but it was only twisted, only rating a wrap support, unlike his wrist, which was in a splint.

Another grimace crossed Virgil's face and Scott let the soft throw drift slowly over his sleeping brother. He stood there a moment, watching as Virgil instinctively snuggled into the material.

A sigh and Scott awkwardly folded himself onto the floor beside him and let his head rest against the same armrest on which his brother had lain his head.

He closed his eyes.

-o-o-o-

Scott lost a few moments immediately during and after the crash. His head must have his the headrest just that little bit too hard, because when he did open his eyes, everything was blurry.

"Scott?"

A brother? Virgil?

There were other sounds. Creaking, groaning, something was buzzing, something else was sparking.

The smell of burnt plastic and tart metal. He let out a breath and it turned into a cough. Smoke. It crept into his lungs and tried to strangle him.

"Scott, we need to get out of here."

Somebody was fumbling at his harness. Yes, harness...Thunderbird?

That somebody was suddenly coughing. A gasp and a groan.

His stomach roiled both with sudden panic and some nasty nausea. Before he could think, he was folded double, coughing and attempting to breathe, his innards clawing outwards. A strong grip caught his arm and he didn't complete his fall.

"Scott, help me here, please." There was pleading in his brother's voice and something else. Scott's eyes slipped closed. "No, no, you gotta...gotta...Scott!"

The panic returned. Virgil! It was Virgil. Where? He flung his eyes open, but there was only blur and mostly darkness.

The grip on his arm was trying to drag him somewhere, but it didn't seem to have the strength.

"Virgil?" Oh, and now the world was spinning.

"Scott...argh."

He frowned. What? Virgil, he assumed it was Virgil, was still attempting to move him. Smoke curled up his nostrils and built another cough. The world tipped on its axis and blanked out for a moment.

-o-o-o-

He let himself drift sitting there beside his brother. His mind flipping through an involuntary mental scrapbook of life. He remembered faces, moments, so many moments. He had four brothers and one sister who shared his life and were so precious to him, but one always surfaced above the others. One was always there, had been the first, and stood by him ever since.

Brown eyes, solid dependability, the one who stepped up to keep him up, his prop, his support, his first brother, his first officer, his best friend.

Who snorted in his sleep.

Scott opened his eyes and turned his head just slightly.

The frown was back, Virgil was in pain.

Pain acerbated by him.

-o-o-o-

He was being dragged. There was no other word for it.

Someone was pulling on his arm and he was being inched across a rough metal surface. There was smoke in his lungs.

He wrenched his arm back and curled up coughing.

A hand grabbed at his uniform and began dragging him again.

"Wha-?" And the coughing took away his voice.

The dragging stopped, metal groaned, and the floor dropped out from under him. It didn't drop far, but it frightened the cough out of him. A warm breeze of fresh air wafted over his face and the dark blur became a light one. He squeezed his eyes shut at it pierced his retinas.

Off to his right there was a sudden groan of pain. The floor shuddered as something hit it. Scott frowned, his brain attempting to piece together the information it was receiving. Virgil? Where was Virgil?

"Virg...?"

"Hi'm okay...okay..."

Harsh breathing, and the panic swirled up in his gut, something was wrong, something beyond the smoke and the blur.

He reached out and his fingers encountered uniform material, but before he could investigate further, a hand caught his and gripped it tight.

Off in the distance something exploded.

"Shit!"

The hand left his and he was bereft. A gasp, a strangled sound as the floor wobbled under him. "Virgil?"

Another groan. The floor dropped out from under him again. And again. Shudder by shudder he felt himself lowered until the metal under him encountered something more solid.

The fresh air felt so wonderful.

A shadow passed over him and the hand was back. "C'mon, S-Scott. Need to get out of the blasss...radius."

Blast radius? What? God, focus!

He shook his head and immediately regretted it. Augh, the world was spinning again.

The hand was pulling at him again. "S-Stand up, pleeease." The parched voice was full of desperation. Virgil was desperate.

His brother was desperate.

Scott pushed himself up slowly and shoved his feet under him. That hand steadied him as his world wobbled and then began leading him.

Still confused, he followed.

-o-o-o-

Scott twisted around, ignoring the twinges from his bruises, and gently brushed his fingers through his brother's hair. He avoided the bandages and caught the tuft that always stubbornly stood at attention. Ever so softly, he tried to give comfort to his brother without disturbing his slumber.

Ever the sensitive, Virgil immediately relaxed with a sigh.

Scott smiled ever so slightly. His brother was a deep sleeper, always had been, but as sensitive to stimuli as he was when awake. Scott didn't understand it, guessed it was something to do with that artistic streak of his brother's, but he did take advantage of it.

Making his presence known ever so quietly, his brother's sleeping mind would respond and be reassured. It had helped with nightmares when they were young. It helped with injuries now they were adult. Whether Virgil knew about it, Scott did not know, but there had been many a bedside vigil where Scott had reached out to touch and reassure his brother.

He cherished the ability to help him this way.

It was the least he could do.

-o-o-o-

"I-I can't."

The hand left him, Scott stumbled, catching his foot on something. His ankle yelled at him and suddenly he was on the ground again.

They had been stumbling through forest. He knew that much. He could smell the trees and the decaying vegetation underfoot. The blur that was his eyesight was getting better and now he was beginning to see shapes and sharper colours, though still with fuzzy edges.

It was definitely Virgil who was with him, his dark hair, blue and green uniform, but he was still missing the details and his brain still wasn't functioning properly. It faded at times, spun at others, but every now and again it would connect dots and realise things. He clung to those moments.

This was one of them.

He was on the ground, leaf litter caught between his fingers.

Virgil was beside him, gasping.

Scott could see the shapes of his face. His eyes, nose and mouth, but their edges were blurred by a mass of red.

Blood red.

Scott blinked, desperate to clear his vision, and for a moment it flashed crystal in the dappled shade beneath some ancient tree.

Virgil lay beside him, face screwed up in pain, blood smeared across half of it, one eye swelling shut. One arm had some hasty looking bandages wrapped around it and was obviously broken.

His brother whimpered. "John, I-I can't..."

"It's okay, Virgil, you've made it. You are far enough away."

"S-sure?"

"I'm sure." And Scott could hear the gentle reassurance in his younger brother's voice. "Rest now, Gordon and Alan will be there shortly."

Virgil's body just sagged as if all the air had been let out of it. A strangled sound that couldn't be defined.

The world was getting fuzzy again, and before he lost it, Scott reached out and grabbed his brother's hand. "Virgil!"

The head turned towards him. "S-Scott, you with m-me?"

"Yeah."

"Th-thank god."

-o-o-o-

He kept his fingers continually moving, brushing dark hair ever so softly.

Virgil had dragged him out of Thunderbird Two, across he didn't know how many metres of forest, to a safe distance away from his 'bird in case she exploded. John had urged him on, despite his injuries and Scott's disorientation. It was unclear if Virgil had injured himself further doing such a thing, but it certainly couldn't have helped. Broken ribs, broken arm and a head injury, yet somehow he had managed to make the distance dragging his eldest brother, despite his resistance.

Scott had faded in and out for the rest of the rescue. he vaguely remembered a concerned Alan and Gordon. Virgil attempting to get his attention again. His concussion had been persistent well into his hospital stay.

A blessed sleep of his own had eventually put his brain back together and now it was down to just the headache and occasional dizzy spell.

Virgil had the more serious head injury, yet had escaped the concussion long enough to get them out of there.

Scott leant over and kissed his brother's hair. Whispered. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." His brother's deep voice startled him and he fell back on his ass.

With a grunt Virgil looked up at him and grinned. "Hey, Big Bro, how's your head?"

"Less broken than yours."

"That is a matter of opinion."

"No, I have proof this time. I downloaded your medical chart."

Virgil frowned at him and immediately regretted it. "Ow."

"More proof."

"Shut up."

Softer. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit."

"That explains why you look like shit."

"Thanks."

"You are welcome. I aim to please." But he reached out and grabbed Virgil's hand and squeezed.

A tired eye caught his, and Scott smiled just slightly.

His hand was squeezed back.

"Is he still going through with it?"

Scott reached over to the centre table and grabbed his tablet. He didn't let go of Virgil's hand.

"Apparently so." A one handed fumble and he brought the legal document on screen before holding it up for his brother to see. "Summons and everything."

Virgil sighed in exasperation. "You've got to be kidding."

"Nope."

There was silence for a moment, and Scott let the tablet drop to his lap.

"You know he is an idiot. Our lawyers are going to eat him alive." Virgil's voice still had a hint of the smoke inhalation rasp.

Scott frowned. "I can hope."

"Munch, munch, and then spit him out between their teeth."

Scott smirked. "You sound so sure."

"That's because I am. The bastard deserved it."

-o-o-o-

Scott made his way through the hospital corridor with one hand clutched to his head. It still ached abominably, but he could at least function now.

As he rounded the corner to his brother's room, he ran into Langstrom Fischler. Literally.

His head pounded as he bounced off the man.

"Can't you watch where you are walking? You'd think this place was full of blind people." The whining voice was worse than the collision.

"Mr Fischler." Be screwed if he was going to apologise.

The man stared up at him for a moment, obviously realising he was familiar but not placing his identity.

"Scott Tracy, Mr Fischler."

"You!" And he was being pointed at. "You're one of that Rescue mob who stole my solar collector."

Scott blinked. "Your collector damaged our cargo plane and caused it to crash while we were attempting to save your life. Again."

"Well, I want it back."

Scott frowned. "It is in pieces, Mr Fischler. Many, many small burnt pieces scattered across the Amazonian rainforest."

"Unacceptable."

Another blink. "I'm sorry, but there is nothing I can or care to do about it."

"Well, where's the other one? The one who shot them all down?"

"Why?" Virgil had given up and ended up deploying his laser and cutting them from the sky before they could move to a populated area.

"I want to give him a piece of my mind."

"I don't think he needs it, Mr Fischler." Scott took a step forward.

Fischler took a step back, but fussed at one of his assistants who was hovering behind him and grabbed a tablet. "Then give me his contact details."

"No."

"Why not?"

And Scott was in the stupid man's face. "Do you have any idea what you did?"

The man's face was completely blank of any comprehension. "Do? What did I do? I didn't do anything. It was you and your buzzy machines that got in the way."

"Your solar collectors were flying bombs. Out of control flying bombs."

"They were just doing their job. You got in the way."

Scott's hackles rose just that increment more. "We could have been killed." Virgil could have died. "You have no idea." What he had done to his brother.

"No, I think it is you who have no idea what trouble you have put me through. You and that stupid pilot of that green monstrosity. I want to speak with him, the fool. What right did he have to-"

Fischler was on the ground, nose bleeding profusely.

And Scott's wrist was screaming at him, his own breathing harsh in his ears. Every eye in the corridor was staring.

He could blame it on the concussion. Possibly. Maybe.

No, the man deserved it and he meant it with every fibre in his body.

-o-o-o-

"I wish I could have seen it."

Scott arched an eyebrow at his prone brother. "Really?"

"Hey, I think you earned that one. Wouldn't mind a turn of my own." He grunted as he moved. "In a few week's time."

"Aren't you usually the one holding me back rather than cheering me on?"

Virgil shifted where he lay and groaned, suddenly struggling to sit up. Scott scrambled to his feet and helped him right himself. Sitting upright and panting, "Okay, h-he definitely deserves it. Shit." Virgil closed his eyes and stilled for a moment.

Scott held his shoulders and knelt in front of him. No good asking his brother if he was okay, he obviously wasn't.

That one deep brown eye opened. Raspy. "Thanks."

Scott smiled just a little, his grip tightening.

"After what he did to my 'bird, I want to kick his ass."

"Should I hold you back?"

"You could join in. It will be fun." And there was a ghost of a smile of Virgil's face.

Scott mirrored it. "He's not worth your time or your effort. And Thunderbird Two will fly again."

Virgil dropped his gaze. "I guess."

"Besides, I'm the big brother here." This time he did grin.

And Virgil was grinning as best he could with his swollen face. Almost immediately replaced by another grimace. "Ow." Scott wanted to hit Fischler again.

"C'mon, let's get you up to a real bed."

"Was comfy here." Was that a pout?

"Really?" He poked the tablet. "The terrible two will be down in a couple of hours, you sure you want to be here then?"

Lips twisted. "I guess not."

But there was something...

"C'mon." He offered to help his brother off the lounge.

With a great deal of swearing, Virgil was eventually upright, in a hunched over kind of way. "I am so not taking the stairs."

"Neither am I." Scott limped ahead to the elevator, Virgil shuffling behind him. "God, we are a great pair."

"We are damned lucky."

He didn't answer that, just hit the button that would send them to the residential section of the villa.

Another slow trek down a corridor and into Virgil's rooms. His brother didn't comment as Scott followed him in. Scott didn't comment when Virgil didn't bother to change his clothes, but simply lowered himself onto his bed and groaned onto his least damaged side. Scott grabbed the covers and lay them over the aching man.

A smirk. "Do I get a bedtime story?"

"Do you want one?"

"It was a joke." Virgil closed his eyes and smushed his face into the pillow as best he could.

But it wasn't a joke, Scott could see that much.

On a whim, he reached over and ran his fingers through his brother's hair again. Virgil melted just slightly, a sigh passing his lips. "I hate you."

Scott smirked and brushed his hair again. "Yes, that's why you dragged my dopey ass through several hundred metres of dense forest while sporting a broken arm, ribs and a skull fracture."

"Had to move anyway. Needed the company."

"Uh huh."

"Y' need to go t'bed. Headache."

"Uh huh."

"Rest..."

"Uh huh."

"Hmm-mm."

Scott grinned as Virgil drifted off to sleep.

-o-o-o-

FIN.


End file.
